The Forming of a Threesome
by Dreamboat Kicks
Summary: This is an on-going story is about how Wat, Roland, and Will became friends. It picks up right after Will's flashback in the ferry ended.
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1  


Roland watched the small boy stare out at the lake. His eyes never left the spot where the ferry had disappeared in the fog, taking his father with it. He wasn't crying, wasn't showing any emotion at all, but Roland knew that inside, anguish was ripping the poor lad's heart to shreads. It had been obvious in the way he'd pleeded with his father just moments before.   
_Father, I'm afraid!  
Of what?  
I won't know the way back home.  
Don't be foolish, son. Just follow your feet._  
Poor kid. He thought he was going home eventually. Roland had thought the same thing when his father had dropped him off at he landing. Only that hadn't really been his fault, he reflected. His father had told him to stick it out for a year two; then he'd get to come home. He'd be much wiser and have lots of prize money for the family. Now, eight years later, he had no money and this was the fourth time they'd come back to the landing and left it again without him ever laying eyes on London.  
He jerked sharply as Sir Ector's voice cut through his reverie.   
Yes, sir?  
I thought I told you to show the boy about his duties.  
Yes, sir. You did, sir.  
Well then get on about it.  
Yes, sir!  
Roland reached out a hand and gently grabbed the boy's shoulder.  
Come on, lad. You heard Sir Ector.  
Wordlessly, the boy turned from the lake and stared at him with wide, scared eyes.  
Let me show you the horse's tack. You'll need to know how to saddle im and get im ready for Sir Ector. He started walking toward the horse even before he finished the sentence, the boy trailing behind him.  
  
* * *  
After an hour or more of going over ever piece of tack _This a bridle, lad. You put it on like this. _,what was expected of a squire _Take it from me, boy, if you're seen but not heard, you can't go wrong., _and the safety rules for dealing with weapons_ For us squires, there aren't any. You sit on that horse, grit your teeth, and pray to the Awesome Father. _ he was exhausted as well as starving. He was a bit worried about the boy, as well. He hadn't said one word since the ferry had disappeared. He answered every yes or no question with a nod or a shake of his head. A question that required anything more just received a shrug. Roland wished he knew the kid's name. His father had probably said it sometime before he left, but he hadn't heard, beeing busy stacking equipment at the time.  
He sat down gingerly next to him, cradling two bowls of soup, two chunks of stale bread, and two spoons. He settled himself against a tree before handing the lad his portion of food. He handed a spoon to him and then, at last, turned to his own food.   
He had taken perhaps three spoonfulls, when he heard a gurgling noise. He glanced at the boy sharply and saw with alarm that he had ignored the spoon, put the bowl to his lips, and was sucking down the soup as though he were afraid it would disappear. When he finished the bowlful, he set it down and started tearing at the bread like a wild animal. It was gone in about five seconds. The whole meal had taken ten, at most.  
Roland sat there, frozen. He had his spoon halfway to his mouth and was gaping at the boy speechlessly. He had never seen anyone eat quite like that. He had certainly been hungry, gone without food for a couple days. But nothing he'd experienced had been like what he'd just seen. The boy had been no different from a starving dog.  
Without the slightest thought to himself, he he thrust his soup at him.  
The boy shook his head, his lips clamped together.  
Go on, eat it for heaven't sake!, Roland said in exasperation.   
That's yours.  
Roland stared. The boy had spoken for the first time. He had a tiny voice. His eyes looked moist as he looked at the soup held out to him, but somehow, amazingly, he was telling Roland to eat it himself.  
When was the last tilme you had a meal? he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.  
Dunno. Can't remember.  
Well I can tell you when my last meal was, Roland said. A few hours ago. Plus, he invented. I had some more bread when I was getting our food from Sir Ector. So you eat my soup. He wafted the smell toward the kid, which seemed to make up his mind. He reached for the soop and started sucking it. He still wasn't using the spoon and was still eating very fast, but he lacked the animalistic quality he'd eaten his first bowl with. What's your name, boy? I can't keep calling lad' and boy' all the time.  
the boy said.  
Mind if I call you Will?  
  
Roland shrugged. It's shorter.  
I guess you can.  
He paused, casting around for something else to say. Did you want to be a squire or did your father make you?   
Roland, why do you keep tryilng to get me to talk when you want me to eat so badly?  
Because if you eat too much too fast, you get sick.  
  
Didn't you ever have enough food to get sick on?   
Guess not. Least, I never got sick on food before.  
He didn't really know how to answer that. He suddenly felt guilty about his round belly.  
Thank you, Roland. Will sounded tired as he pushed his bowl aside.  
  
A little.  
You can lean on me if you want.  
Roland felt a warm tingle as Will leaned into him. He eased his arm around the boy's tiny shoulders and thought wistfully that it was almost like sitting on the small flight of steps at the tavern with his brother Benjamin asleep next to him, waiting for Father to come back from the tailor's shop. Roland shook himself mentally. This was not home and Will was not Benjamin. Still, he thought, as he glanced down at the yawning boy, he _was_ the perfect size for a little brother.  
It was only after Will's gentle snores filled the air that Roland realized he had not answered his question about being a squire. 

* * *

Chapter 2  


  
8 years later. . .  
  
  
Roland watched the fiteen-year-old William as he shouldered two lances and walked with ease over to the field where the knights were practicing for the tournament that would begin in a few hours. Lord, the kid was strong. Sir Ector had been right when he'd told Roland several years before that he didn't doubt that William Thatcher would be the best squire any knight ever had. Roland had been more than a little jealous at the time, but over the years, his jealousy had turned into pride. After all, there was something to be said for being the teacher/best friend of the squire every knight wanted.   
Going to stand there all day, are you? a snippy voice asked from behind him.  
Roland asked, turning. A boy with flaming red hair about Will's age was standing there. He was cradling a lance in his arms and had a sword balanced on his shoulder. He also had a heavy pack on his back and a very annoyed expression on his face.  
Asked you if you were going to stand there all day. It's narrow between these tents, as you might have noticed. With this lance, I've got to go through sideways and your blocking my way. He glared.  
Well why didn't you ask me to move? Roland asked.  
Don't ask nobody for nothing. It's you rich folks at ask us for money with all them taxes, taxes, taxes. Don't ever want to be like you.  
I'll have you know I'm not rich! Roland was becoming angry. After sixteen years of being a squire I have nothing to show for it except bruised bones and sore feet.  
And a fat belly! the boy yelled.  
Roland grabbed the boy's ear, twisted it hard, and was rewarded with a satisfying scream of pain and a clatter as the lance and sword fell from his hands.Who do you take orders from, boy? I'm going to tell im to give you a nice flogging!  
You wouldn't! the boy cried, tears in his eyes.  
Oh yes I will, lad! Yes I will! Now tell me who he is! He shook the boy viscously, but he squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, refusing to say anything.  
Tell me! Roland dealt the boy a smart rap on the side of his head. It had the opposite effect he intended. The boy's eyes flew open, blazing hatred.   
The last thing Roland remembered was the kid's fist coming at him.   
  
* * *  
It hurt. Oh, goodness, it hurt. Everything was black, but he could feel the pain. And something else. A cool hand on his forehead?  
Will he be all right?  
Yes, sir. The kid really got him though.  
How bad was it?  
Pretty bad, sir. I saw the kid punch him as soon as I turned around. He'd nocked Roland out, but he dropped him on the ground and kicked him in the temple anyway.  
Really? Why? A flogging was nothing really awful. Sir Ector had whipped him on occasion when he'd forgotten something important. Why did the boy hate him?  
Did the boy get in trouble?  
Yes, sir. He works for the cook at the tavern here. Luckily, the cook was out looking for him and saw me pry him off Roland. When I told him what had happened, he was furious.  
That's good. A boy like that needs to learn how to get control of his temper.  
Yes, sir.  
And yet, I wonder. . .  
  
Oh, nothing, William. You watch over Roland. I've got to go to banquet.  
Yes, sir.  
Roland swam upward to full consciousness as the sound of footsteps faded away. He could see the blury outline of Will's face now, but the pain his head was building to such a level that he wished he could have stayed unconscious.  
Will's voice was tense, hopeful, worried, and releived all at the same time.  
Yes, Will, Roland said groggily.  
Are you all right, Roland?  
I-I don't-  
Never mind. Don't talk. It must hurt like anything. I'll just let you come to.  
Roland waited a few moments and Will's face slid into focus.   
I'm alright, William. He saw Will let out a deep breath. He wondered if Will had realized he'd been holding it.  
What happened, Roland? I don't understand it.  
Well, Roland began. He tried to sit up but a white-hot star burst across his vision. Will shoved him down again. I don't understand it either. I was standing in between the tents, watching you, and this really snippy voice from behind me asks I plan on standing there all day. I turn around and there's this boy standing there (I think he was about your age) and he's loaded down with a bunch of equipment and has this really annoyed look on his face. I asked him why he hadn't asked me to move, and he said Don't ask nobody for nothing. It's you rich folks-  
William burst in. We're not_ rich!_  
I know, and I tried to tell him that, but he wouldn't listen. He just kept getting madder and madder when I said we weren't rich and that all I had after years of hard work were bruised bones and sore feet. He yelled that I had a fat belly. For some reason, that really got to me. I grabbed his ear and twisted it-  
__ Will looked shocked.   
Yes. Me.  
Well, so much for sweet, gentle Roland.  
Sweet, gentle Roland has a temper, too, Will.  
  
Well, anyway. I tried to get him to tell me who his master was, because I wanted to make sure that he got a good flogging-  
He certainly deserved one.  
-and he punched me.  
What? Just because you wanted to give a flogging because he was rude to you for no reason?  
So it would seem.  
Will leaned his head on his hand and looked up at the sky.  
Do you have a theory, Will?  
Well I don't know, Roland, but I think he might have thought you were a knight. And what if he was sent away from his family because he needed to work for money to pay off debts. Maybe the knights and nobles still looked down on him and prevented him from doing something he really wanted to do. Maybe -here, Will's voice sank to a whisper- maybe he wants to change his starts, too, and they won't let him.  
What's that mean, Will? What's it mean to change your stars?  
Something about Will closed, shutting Roland out. It had been that way ever since Roland had first met him. William always shared absolutely everything with him, except that. Will used the phrase at the oddest times; sometimes he he muttered it to himself while he stacked lances or polished swords; sometimes he'd be watching the knights practice and say it to himself. Roland was not often curious, but this had been one exception. Whenever he heard Will say the phrase, he would hint, poke, prod, or ask straight out what it meant. Will never answered him. Sometimes he tolerated Roland for awhile, but whenever Roland got too curious for his liking, he'd close. He would go completely silent and stare out at nothing. There was no telling how long he'd stay that way. Most often, it would only last for a few minutes or an hour or two at most. Other times, though, it would last for days. Once, he'd gone on like that for a whole week. He'd had to talk then, of course, but it had been in a very stiff manner, and he'd looked blanlky at anything but the person he was talking to. Then, suddenly, he'd come up to Roland one morning and asked him cheerfully what chance he thought Sir Ector had of winning the next tournament. It had taken some getting used to, but Roland had slowly gotten accostomed to it and learned not to try to cheer Will up, but to let him take as long as he needed to come out of his shell and let the world back in.  
He was just wondering how long Will would stay silent this time, when he felt the boy start next to him. He strained his ears, and heard the faint sound of crying coming from the darkness.   



	2. Finding Wat

  
**Author's note: **Thank you for all the reviews. I'm sorry for the typos and that the first two chapters were stuck together. My bad. Also, I'm changing the subcategory from angst to general, because it will be happy in the end since they're best friends. :-)  
  
  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Did you hear that, Will? Roland asked.  
Yes. And I'm going to investigate. He picked up a small branch from the fire next to them.  
Good idea.  
You are staying put, Roland, Will said, correctly sensing where Roland was heading.  
I'm not letting you go out there by yourself, especially with that red haired maniac on the loose. Roland jumped up before Will could stop him. The world turned several times, but rightened itself quickly.  
That red haired maniac is exactly why you should stay, Will grumbled, but he didn't make him lay down again. Roland could tell that, though he would never have admitted it, Will was glad to have him there.  
They stepped cautiously forward into the inky blackness. It being summer, there were hardly any campfires. Their only light came from the flickering dance of the torch and the stars winking in the sky above.   
We've got to be close, Will murmured to himself. You can hear him better.  
Where is he, though? Roland whispered. Something, he couldn't say exactly what, told him that it was a boy crying, not a girl.  
Will cried suddenly and he took off running.  
Roland asked, looking every which way. Without the light of the torch, he didn't have a clue where he was, much less where to look for the boy.  
Come on, Roland! Will was back beside him. He grabbed Roland by the collar, dragged him several yards to the right, and shoved him into an alleyway between a row of tents. Roland tripped and went sprawling face-first into a pile of muck. He came up spitting and angry.  
William Thatcher- he began, wiping face.  
Oh Roland just_ look, _will you?  
Roland looked at the ground where Will was pointing and jumped back with a cry. In the torchlight he could see what he had tripped over. It was a boy. No, not _a _boy. _The _ boy. The one that had knocked him unconscious only hours before.


	3. Wat's Pain and Roland's Guilt

Chapter 4  
  
You're not looking, Roland.  
What do you mean? Of course I'm look-  
Well, all right, maybe you are. But you're not seeing what you should be seeing.  
You sound like an idiot. Now talk so so I can actually understand you.  
Take his shirt off.  
What? Why?  
Just do it.  
The look on Roland's face, as he reached out a slightly shaking hand, might well have been the same if Will had just told him to pick up a poisonous snake. He had just gripped the hem of the boys shirt with the tips of his fingers when the boy moaned and twitched slightly. Roland jerked his hand back as though it had been burned. Will let out a little scream of frustration and stripped the boy's shirt off himself.  
There. You see? _He's not going to hurt you! _  
Roland stared. The boy's back was a mass of blood and whip marks. He felt his stomach heave and jerked around so Will wouldn't have to watch him be sick. When he was done, he turned around slowly and was carful to look at the ground, not the boy.  
No wonder he hit me, he muttered hollowly.  
You didn't know.  
I should have figured it out. This was my fault.   
Even if you hadn't gotten angry at him, he would have gotten beaten for being late or something like that.  
It was still my fault.  
I'm probably wasting my breath telling you not blame yourself aren't I?  
Roland glanced up at Will and saw a comforting and sympathetic expression on his face, but quickly glanced away. As good a friend as Will was, he could never understand how guilty he felt right at that moment. He felt guilt for spending the first years of his life with a kind family, guilt for being fed well even as the debts started piling up, guilt for being such a burden to his parents, guilt for getting angry enough at a stupid insult to send the insulter to fate like this.  
  
Al right, but before you beat yourself up any more, I'm going to remind you that it was me who actually told that hideous cook what happened.  
Let's get him to our camp, Roland said, not acknowledging to the remark but feeling grateful for it just the same.  
Will bent his knees, cautiously reached under the boy's arms and hoisted him over his shoulder, wrapping a strong arm around his waist. The boy made no sound or movement. He seemed to have exhausted himself to the point that he really couldn't have struggled even if he'd wanted to. He just wrapped a thin arm around Will's neck and let him carry him back to camp. Roland brought up the rear, the shirt tucked under his arm. 

* * *


	4. More Or Less

**Author's note: Some parts of this story may come down a bit hard on Wat. Wat is my FAVORITE character in the whole movie and the opinions that may be expressed by the other characters are the CHARACTER'S opinions, not mine. So don't flame me, kay? Okay.   
ENJOY!!!!**  
  
  
Chapter 5  
  
  
The sun was what woke Wat. He cursed it mentally. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep or where sleep had finally claimed him. The one thing he did know was that sleep brought blessed relief from the stabbing pains up and down his back, while wakefulness made them even more noticeable than they had been the night before.  
You're a wizard with a needle, Roland. It almost makes up for the guilt trips you send yourself on.  
Ha-ha. I actually do like sewing for your information. Ma taught me because she never had any girls. She tried to teach Ben, too, but he always got bored after about three stitches.  
I feel his pain. How come you never patch up any of my stuff for me?  
You never asked.  
Uh-huh. Well maybe I'll start.  
Who were they? Wat almost wondered if it mattered. They weren't Cook, and that was enough for him. He let his eyes flicker open.  
He groaned. It was fate. The two who had been responsible for this latest beating.  
Good God, he's alive, the round one said. He dropped whatever it was he sewing and ran off.  
Wat struggled to sit up, watching the blond, messy-haired boy warily. Messy Hair watched him too, with an odd expression on his face. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was. He'd gotten good at reading expressions because they often said how much trouble he was in and what kind of punishment he was likely to receive. After studying the guy, he was starting to think that Messy Hair was guilty, but that was ridiculous. People weren't guilty because they got him hurt. Either they didn't care or they were proud of themselves. Maybe he was feeling guilty for something else.   
Just as he was starting to wonder what Messy Hair was _really _thinking, Round came running back with a loaf of bread and a bucket of water with a dipper. He skidded to a halt, then shoved the water at him.  
  
Wat stared. Drink? He licked his cracked lips. Cook had banned him from water two days ago when he had let a knight's biscuit burn on the stove. He'd snuck a little water here and there, but it had been only a very little. He was definitely thirsty. But drink water from these people?  
Drink it, for heaven's sake.   
Wat blinked in surprise at the tone in the man's voice. It was tired, as though some other half-starved boy had refused food or water from him before. It was also tinged with sadness.  
Go ahead, Messy Hair suddenly spoke up. He won't hit you, if that's what you're afraid of. You can trust him.  
Not afraid of anything, don't trust nobody, and not interested in having you two for friends, Wat said as he accepted the water amiably. He was surprised and a bit disgusted at himself when he suddenly realized that he didn't want the two of them to believe his statement. Especially not the last part of it.  
Well even if you don't want to be our friends, I'm Roland, that's Will, and we're really sorry about last night. You getting hurt, I mean.  
Wat spat out the precious water in his mouth.  
We're sorry.  
But. . .but why? he asked, trying to fathom the idea.  
Roland gave him a strange look, his forehead creased into a frown. He was about to say something when Will interrupted him.  
Why wouldn't we be? You got practically beaten to death and it's our fault.  
Well it's just- I mean- How could he tell them? They'd never understand it. Besides, he didn't even know them. He was under no obligation to tell them what his life was like. If they were his friends, maybe he'd have to tell them, but the weren't his friends. It was just more prove for a conclusion he'd come to a long time ago: it was not worth getting close to people. Everyone you liked always left you eventually and the more you liked them, the more it hurt when they were gone.  
Will asked.  
  
Roland wanted to know what you were going to say.  
  
Why shouldn't we be sorry for you? Roland asked.  
Never mind.  
Well, fine. Be that way. He looked a bit peeved.  
Wat glared at him. _I don't have to tell you my business, _he thought._ And I won't. I. Don't. Like. You._ But he was becoming less and less certain about that point the more he was with the two of them.   
Come on. Now it was Will prying. I'm dying of curiosity about you.  
Don't say a phrase you can't appreciate, Will, Roland admonished. (It was something his mother had always told him.) You've got absolutely no right to that phrase in particular, seeing as you've kept _me_ curious for eight years straight.  
  
I got a right to ask! You're my best friend and as good a little brother as I've got.  
From under the confusion he'd been feeling for the last few seconds, came a ripple of jealousy. He shoved the feeling far down, burying it under mountains of other emotions. _Stay there,_ he ordered silently.   
Why won't you tell me?  
My business.  
Will, I just want to-  
I'm not telling.  
Fine, fine, _fine!_ Roland started stitching again, this time in angry silence. He jabbed the needle into the cloth as hard as he could. Will was also silent as he stared at the blackened fire pit, but it seemed to Wat as though he was seeing something else entirely.  
A feeling of incredible loneliness washed over him. He sighed. He nibbled at the bread Roland had brought him, but found that he didn't have much appetite anymore. He wished he could ask what the two had been arguing about, but he didn't want to make the feud between them anything more than momentary, which he hoped it was. Then he wished he could stay with them, but he knew that was out of the question entirely. In the midst of his terrible rage last night, Cook had screamed at him that it was bad for the business if he went about beating squires, especially good ones. If they were the knights he'd mistaken them for, Wat would have (despite his exceptionally fierce pride) asked them to let him travel with him. But they were only squires. Their master would never would never allow it.  
Time to pack up, boys! I've got some last minute business to take care of and then we're on the rode.   
The loud, gruff, (but not at all unpleasant) voice made them all jump. Wat looked around and spotted a tall, muscular man with a kind face and a stature that meant business striding toward them.  
Yes, sir! Roland and Will said in unison as they scrambled to stand up. Wat shifted uncomfortably and wondered what he should do; whether he should offer some help, keep sitting where he was, or disappear and feel sorry for himself for long time before getting to the task of deciding what he wanted to do with his life. (There was no doubt in his mind anymore that he was done slaving for Cook.) Suddenly something soft smacked him in the face, interrupting his thoughts.  
There's your shirt, Roland said. Try it on.  
After he'd gotten over his surprise, Wat pulled the shirt over his head. He looked down at the shabby, light brown cloth covered in grease stains and had to fight down an insane urge to hug Roland. He'd had the shirt for as long as he could remember and a greater part of his furious sobs the night before had been because he'd thought it was beyond repair.   
Made a friend? The knight-he had to a knight, Wat figured, and their master, for them just drop what they were doing and carry out his order. What would it be like to have that kind of power?  
Yes, sir, Roland said.  
Well, more or less, Will muttered.  
He's-well, what's your name anyway? Roland asked.  
  
He's Wat.  
A look of surprise came over the knight's face as he looked Wat up and down.  
You're the boy that attacked Roland yesterday, aren't you? he asked.  
Well-I-I mean-, he searched his head furiously for some sort of story but found that it was infinitely harder to lie to the knight than it was to lie to Cook.   
You're not in trouble boy. I know you're the one. I was wondering if you'd like to be my squire.  
You're _squire?_ Be a squire to a real knight? Go off on adventures? Learn how to really fight? It was unbelievable. The one thing he'd always wanted to do.  
Well make up your mind and don't take all day about it, Wat. If you don't want to-  
I do, I do, I do! I'll work as hard as I can, and I'll do whatever you tell me, and I'll try never to lose my temper, and-  
The knight coughed suddenly and looked as though he was trying not to laugh.  
Well, then, you'd best get packing. Roland!  
  
Show him the ropes.  
Yes, sir. Roland studied Wat with a smile. Somehow I don't think I'll have any trouble getting _you_ to talk.   
  
  



	5. Sword and Hammer

Chapter 6   
  
_Many months later. . ._  
  
Clang. Clang, clang, clang. Beads of sweat formed on William's face as he slammed the hammer against the blade. A rare smile worked it's way onto his lips. Everything in the forge had a rhythm. Iron hammer, steal blade. Clang, clang, clang. Man making machine. Clang. Good hard work producing exactly what you wanted, getting you exactly where you wanted to go. Clang. Clang. He wondered, absentmindedly, why life couldn't work like this. Because in life, he'd learned, years of work could get you nowhere. In a forge, you started with a lump of steel and made a sword. In life, you had the lump of steel (you) and the hammer (life) but everything was determined by the circumstances of your birth. In life, if you didn't start out in a certain class, there was no way in a world the hammer could get you there. Clang.   
He drew the white-hot sword out of the fire and studied it happily, giving it a few waves. He did forge work only rarely, when it was an absolute neccesity, but it always gave him such a satisfaction. It was what life was not. If he didn't have his heart set on being a knight, he decided, he'd be a forger.   
If he didn't have his heart set on being a knight. The smile vanished from his face. If he didn't have his heart set on being a knight. That sentence had bounced around his head so many times in the last few years that thinking it again made him want to scream. If he didn't want to be a knight, things would be so much simpler. If he didn't want to be a knight, he wouldn't have to keep things from Roland. He looked out across the field to watch Wat and Roland sword fighting. Yelling insults. Playing. He glared daggers. He loved Roland like a brother, and (he believed) Roland loved him back, but there was no question that he _liked _Wat better. Despite their awkward beginning, Roland understood Wat. Wat was simple and had no secrets. _If only you didn't-  
_Slam. A door in his mind closed. _Things would simple- _Slam. _If weren't so serious- _Slam. _William Thatcher, if you could be happy with the status quo- _Bang._  
Let's face it William, _he raged at himself. _You're different. You are. You hate it, yes, but if you suddenly became the same as everyone else, you'd hate that too. It's a damn part of you, being different. You're not going to follow the old, well-used path. Oh, no. I'm sorry old boy, but you're going places. To glory and riches and dreams. To something that matters. Quit apologizing for it.   
_A single tear of rage, frustration, and loneliness slipped out the corner of his eye. He brushed it away angrily. There was no way to get where he was going. There would be no changed stars for him. His hammer wasn't life, he thought bitterly. It was accident birth. With him, it didn't matter where he was going because he could never get there. That was what was so aggravating. A lump of steel couldn't become a sword on it's own. Unless. . .  
A thought, an outrageous thought, hit him so forcefully that he almost stumbled backwards. There was no way a lump of steel could become a sword on it's own. He new that. Had said it to himself over and over again. But, he wondered, could the steel lie about what it was?   
_Could steel pretend to be a sword?  
_He looked out at Wat and Roland again, suddenly frightened. It was more than outrageous. It was unthinkable. And yet. . .  
  
He jumped about a mile.  
  
Sword finished?  
Yes. Yes, Sir Ector, it's right here.  
You all right, boy? You seem a bit jumpy.  
Fine, sir. _As fine as I can be after thinking of treason.  
_ Good, good. You can take a break, boy. You look like you need one.  
Yes, sir. Thank you sir.  
No trouble at all, hand over the sword, will you?  
Will's hand shook as he handed the thing over.   
_Could steal pretend to be a sword?  
_That door he left open.


End file.
